


Notes On Not Leaving Via The Window

by toffeecape



Series: Hurt Yourself Less [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aversions, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Breakfast in Bed, Chronic Pain, Courtship, Dirty Talk, Double Anal Penetration, Drinking Games, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, M/M, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Music, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Poisoning, Praise Kink, Sandwich, Seduction, Sensory Deprivation, Service Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Sharing Body Heat, Sign Language, Ski Jumping, Skiing, Spitroasting, Subdrop, Subspace, Switch Jaskier | Dandelion, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Eskel (The Witcher), Trauma, dysphonia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:35:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24699169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toffeecape/pseuds/toffeecape
Summary: In which Jaskier is forty and very conscious of being confined to a single location for an entire winter, and needs to be convinced he won't ruin everything with his dick.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Hurt Yourself Less [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785667
Comments: 106
Kudos: 614
Collections: Sub!Geralt





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you passed on the first fic in the series, there is a summary in the end notes of this chapter.

Geralt tightened his arms to maintain the handstand as Ciri tried to climb up to his feet. Decades ago, he'd done things like this for the smallest Wolves - Lambert among them - and he hadn't realized how much he missed it. He felt absurdly light with so many of _his_ people gathered into one place. 

Across the great hall, Eskel slung an arm over Jaskier's shoulders. "Tell me, what are your thoughts on drunken threesomes?" 

Geralt lost his balance and crashed to the floor, taking Ciri's weight in the gut. 

Jaskier winced. "Oof, you alright there?" he called. 

"Fine," Geralt wheezed. He craned his neck upside-down, watching both of them avidly. 

"Was it something they said that made you fall?" asked Ciri.

"Mm. Now hush so I can hear the rest." 

"I am a big fan of drunken threesomes," Jaskier was saying to Eskel, "provided nobody is _too_ drunk, of course." 

Eskel wrinkled his nose. "Of course." 

_"That said,_ the option of a speedy getaway if things turn awkward is, um, important? And notably absent here." Jaskier rubbed his forehead. "Gods, I sound like a fucking _adult."_

Before Eskel could poke fun at Jaskier saying that at the age of forty, Geralt coughed, "Ahem- _succubus!"_ which had the desired effect of making Eskel scowl and not discourage Jaskier from his rare display of maturity. 

"What about a succubus?" Ciri hissed. "Geralt, what are they saying?" She was still sitting on Geralt's stomach. 

"Gross stuff," Geralt murmured, "you don't want to know." 

"Ugh," Ciri muttered, "grownups only want one thing and it's disgusting." Geralt thought his future would be much less stressful if she kept right on thinking that. 

"This castle is huge," Eskel was saying, "and you're one of only two people here without super-hearing. One winter Lambert fell out with a hookup and we didn't see him until spring." 

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. "One, I bet that was back when the habitable part of the castle was larger than a modest inn. Two, that is appalling and not an option. I can't believe I'm saying this, because I _am_ interested-" he looked Eskel up and down with hooded eyes, and bit his lip, and Geralt watched in fascination as Eskel _blushed,_ "fuck, _very_ interested. But I'm going to need some convincing." 

"I can work with that," Eskel said warmly, "be nice to have a winter project." And then _he_ looked _Jaskier_ up and down, and Geralt was the one biting his lip. 

_"Hm,"_ Ciri grunted, and Geralt realized with a kind of preemptive alarm that she sounded: thoughtful, curious, and not at all disgusted.

***

Eskel came to him that night, waiting in Geralt's room when Geralt returned from tucking Ciri into bed. 

She'd _signed_ 'good night', sleepy and clumsy and sweet, and Geralt had signed it back, and this plan of signing to spare him speaking sometimes was going to backfire if it kept making his throat hurt _more._

Some of that must have been on his face, at least to Eskel's eyes, because his voice was terribly gentle when he said, "Hey. C'mere, you." He drew Geralt into his arms and kissed him slow and deep, palming the nape of his neck, his tongue in Geralt's mouth, his scent in Geralt's nose. His other arm braced Geralt's back as he sagged into the oldest, most steadfast safety he knew. He drew Geralt over to the bed, both shedding clothes all the way, and pivoted to push him down into the bed, and followed him down. 

Geralt kneaded at Eskel's shoulders and let out a shaky sigh as Eskel's big hand enfolded their cocks, stroking slow and sure. Eskel loomed over him, leaning heavily against his side and half on top of him, sucking bruises into Geralt's neck when he tipped his head back. 

Geralt was so wound-up, it wasn't long before his hips were twitching and rolling with a mind of their own, tension coiling in the pit of his belly. Eskel's dick was hot and furiously hard against him, slick with precome, balls heavy and tight when Geralt's fingers crept down to feel him. 

"Yeah, I'm close. You always get me there, but I can get you there faster." Geralt snorted at that, then shivered at Eskel's deep chuckle. "You know I'm right." He nosed behind Geralt's ear, nipped the lobe and released it with slow suction, then whispered, loud and close to make Geralt shiver again, "Go on, let it out. Let it go for me." Geralt's hips bucked and he was coming, long spurts up his abdomen as he gasped his way through it, and Eskel added to the mess with a low, pleased groan. 

Eskel's touch was just as confident and familiar as he cleaned up, rubbing Geralt down with one of their shirts (Geralt's). He wasn't even finished before Geralt squirmed with a not-quite-sated need, and pushed Eskel onto his back and slid down his body. 

Eskel raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure? I heard you yelling last night. There's no way you didn't bleed." 

Geralt rolled his eyes. He wasn't going to take Eskel's cock into his _trachea._ He mouthed at his soft prick, enjoying the smell of Eskel here where it was strongest, and then took it onto his tongue with infinite gentleness, like a delicacy. 

It had been a shock, when he first went out into the world, to learn how quickly and fluidly human men got hard. Witchers' slow pulses meant their cocks filled with blood in palpable increments. Eskel was more excited than he let on, barely more than two seconds between each heartbeat instead of his resting four, and with each beat he got a little thicker, a little harder, a little heavier on Geralt's tongue, pushing deeper into his mouth. _More… more… more._ He loved it. 

Sometimes, when the stars aligned, Eskel would fuck him and stay inside him, swelling back up in those same distinct, inexorable steps, and then fuck him _again._ Geralt's own dick was twitching back to life just thinking about it, and he ground down into the blankets and worked Eskel's cock as it stretched his mouth and just - lost himself in pure animal pleasure for a little while. 

Now Eskel was the one moving jerkily, always shy of thrusting when Geralt sucked him, never quite able to forget the ruin of Geralt's larynx right next door. He buried his hands in Geralt's hair, letting fistfuls of it spill through his trembling fingers. Geralt hummed and sucked harder as Eskel's balls drew up again, and forced the head of Eskel's cock a little deeper as Eskel's hips twitched up, and swallowed hard around it. Eskel came in another series of long spurts and deep, relieved sighs. Geralt swallowed it all down, suckling contentedly even as he rutted into his own fist down below. 

Eskel recovered himself in time to haul Geralt up before he reached his own second peak. "Let me catch that. You can't have crusty blankets; you're a father now." Geralt opened his mouth to protest, but he was _very_ close to coming again already and Eskel was jacking him briskly, so the only noises he could make were hoarse gasps. His second orgasm was weaker than the first, and he flopped onto his back after, feeling well and truly drained for once. He had Jaskier's good work the night before to thank for that, probably - to feel so done after only two. 

Eskel had caught Geralt's spend neatly and wiped it off on the much-abused shirt from earlier; crusty blanket jokes aside, he knew how much Geralt loathed the smell of his own spunk after sex, even worse than the smell of his own sweat. Geralt watched him toss the shirt across the room to his dirty laundry basket, well away from his bed with the rest of his hateful stinking clothes, and felt a little wave of warmth roll through him at the kindness, and at being so _known._

It was into this haze of wellbeing that Eskel pierced him with bright eyes and said, "So, how did _you_ seduce the bard?" 

Geralt stared at him, screaming internally, and Eskel sighed. "What am I saying? _He_ seduced _you,_ didn't he?" The unscarred side of his mouth, the side that moved freely, quirked up a little. "How long did it take?" He repeated himself with his hands, _How long?_ knowing Geralt was much more likely to sign if he didn't have to initiate it. 

Geralt tried glaring at him, but that had never worked on Eskel and didn't work now. _Two years,_ he admitted. _Hurt my back, he gave me a…_ "rubdown." Dammit, expanding their vocabulary with Redanian valley sign couldn't happen soon enough. "Things - escalated. He's good at escalation." 

"And yet he hesitated tonight." A note of self-doubt crept into Eskel's voice, and he rubbed his fingers over his scars. 

"More than half of Jaskier's trysts end with him leaving via the window. He can't do that here." 

"So he said." Geralt seconding it seemed to mollify him; he brought his hand down and crossed his arms, as he often did while thinking. After a while he nodded decisively. "We don't have two years. We barely have three months, four at the outside. We'll just have to woo him extra hard." 

"Who's we? He's already bagged _me."_

"Ah, but just imagine having _both_ of us _at once."_

Geralt's cock did _not_ twitch. Eskel was smirking for _no_ reason. 

"Yeah, this is going to be fun. Gonna bring your little friend around to having one _hell_ of a good time _._ " 

"...Not _that_ little."

"Do tell." 

"I meant he's almost as tall as us, you cad." Eskel sniggered. Emboldened, Geralt offered, "But I will tell you this: underneath those stupid doublets he's hairy like a bear wearing another bear as a coat." 

Eskel groaned. "Oh fuck you, he is not!" 

"Guess you'll have to find out, won't you? Bit of incentive for your _wooing."_

***

Geralt thrust the sword into the air, parried and pirouetted and thrust again, feeling the heft of it. The good dwarven steel glinted fiercely at him, like it was glad to be out of storage. 

"How's it feel?" Eskel asked. He was bent over one of Geralt's new gauntlets, hammering rivets through the thick leather. 

"It'll do." 

"Honestly I'm surprised Vesemir didn't smack you harder before letting you into the armory, the way you left Cintra with nothing but your silver blade to your name." 

"And Roach. And my potion bag." 

"Sloppy, Wolf. Very sloppy." 

"This from the man who slapped a piece of leather over a hole in the crotch of his pants and called it a day. For the next sixty years." 

"Spoken like a man who's never tasted the freedom of the codpiece." 

"When I want _freedom_ I bloody go _naked-"_ Geralt was cut off by a commotion in the hallway. Seconds later, Lambert burst in, trailed by Ciri and Jaskier. 

"Brothers! I bring grave tidings. This poor scamp has never been skijoring!"

"Why would she?" Jaskier said reasonably. "Cintra's too far south to get that much snow." 

"What are you all talking about?" Ciri demanded. "I don't even know what that is!" 

Lambert made a shrieking noise through his nose and flung out an arm. "See? This will not _stand."_ He always got antsy once winter really set its teeth in. Now he swarmed up the ladder to the second level of the armory and started knocking around.

Jaskier turned to Ciri. "Skijoring is the very silly, very fun practice of putting on skis and then having a horse or team of dogs pull you like a sledge. It can get quite fast with a clear path and good snow." 

Ciri looked excited. "Ooohh! I do want to try that!" 

"The skis aren't up there, Lambert," Eskel called, "we've been all over the armory pulling together Geralt's new kit, and didn't see any skis."

"Thanks for telling me before I climbed up here and got attacked by dust bunnies, asshole. Where the hell are they, then?" 

No one had any idea until they asked Vesemir. "They're in the stable, with the sledge, which you would know if you ever cleaned that far back."

He didn't veto the activity, though - "It's good strength training. Why do you think we let you boys get away with it as much as you did?" - and even threw on a fur coat and came out to the stable. Coën fell into step with the rest of them, having caught wind of the day's entertainment.

"I admit I'm surprised you even have a sledge," Jaskier said. "I thought witchers were all about - killing elk with your bare hands, and then carrying it back on foot, uphill both ways, that sort of thing." 

"That's all well and good to burn off energy and feed seven people," Vesemir said, brushing dust off the varnished wood handle of the sledge, "but time was, we had to feed a lot more." His fingers lingered there for a long, silent moment, then he shook himself. "Which horse needs a run the most?" 

Lambert opined loudly that his Zerrikanian racer would be the fastest option. He was right, but it was also fucking cold today, for all that the sun was gleaming; Roach would maul Geralt if he took her out in that and then expected her to pull, and he would deserve it. Lambert's gelding, on the other hand, seemed to be climbing the walls almost as bad as his master. 

"Gotta go fast, don't we, Red?" Lambert egged on the slim bay's prancing and whickering as he groomed him and tacked him up. "Gotta go fast!" 

"Gotta go fast to not freeze your balls off out there," Eskel muttered. He'd followed Vesemir's lead and thrown on a fur coat, scrounged from somewhere in the castle and comically too large for him, and kept trying to make Ciri wear a third scarf. 

The company trooped out into the piercing cold and brightness of the outdoors, and Geralt set to trying to fasten the skis around Ciri's small boots. Vesemir came to the rescue again, knowing the trick of resizing the ancient straps. Ciri, finally equipped, took one step and fell flat on her face.

She looked so outraged, glaring up from her tangle of limbs and skis in the snow, that Geralt had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting out laughing. "It's not quite like walking. It's more like…" he wracked his brain for a comparison, but Jaskier beat him to it.

"It's like sliding in your stockings across a polished ballroom floor. You shift your weight more than you move your feet." 

Geralt could not have imagined a more ridiculous analogy, but Ciri seemed to find it helpful. By the time Lambert had Red warmed up, she was shuffling along on the skis as well as any little witcher their first time out. 

"You've picked that up just in time to forget it all, princess!" Lambert tossed her a rope; the other end was fastened to Red's saddle. "Now all you need to do is hold on tight and keep your feet under you." He started off at a sedate walk.

Ciri frowned. "I thought you were going to go - whoa!" She barely stayed upright as the rope went taut. 

"Oh, we'll speed up," Lambert promised her, his voice fading as Red towed her away from the little cluster of men in the field. 

"So," said Eskel, "that ballroom analogy. Speaking from experience, Jaskier? Skidded through a few in your day, fleeing noble cuckolds?" 

"Mhm, yep, cuckolds, that's right." 

Geralt frowned. That was Jaskier's dissembling voice. And- "You never leave your boots. I've seen you run stark-arse naked _except_ for your boots." 

"What can I say? The road is my home, my home, the road. Good boots are priceless." Vesemir and Coën nodded sage approval at this. 

"They are, but then when would you have cause to be gadding about in your stocking feet?" Geralt felt a number of stray puzzle pieces he hadn't known he was collecting fall into place. "You never told me you were nobility." 

"You never asked." For all his breezy tone, Jaskier looked acutely uncomfortable. "Anyway, I'm sure to be disinherited by now, though I will _never_ go back to check. Oh look, Lambert's moved up to a gallop." 

As subject-changes went, it had the advantage of being true. Ciri's delighted shriek echoed across the field. Distantly, Lambert could be heard shouting, "Right turn coming up! Lean like before, just harder!" Red veered and snow fountained up behind Ciri as she took the turn. They made a complete circuit of the field, the spectators cheering loudly when she navigated the same sharp turn a second time. 

Vesemir commented, "He's going to slingshot her into the trees if he tries that again." 

"Nah, she's doing great," Eskel scoffed. 

"But she's human," Coën put in, "Vesemir's right. Fatigue will kick in soon." Geralt remembered that Coën had spent time around pre-Trials boys much more recently than the rest of them. 

Jaskier stared at them all. "Shouldn't you maybe - stop that from happening?" 

Geralt shrugged. "Gotta know where your limits are." There were some parts of Ciri's training that he was going to ensure _didn't_ follow witcher tradition, but this wasn't one of them. 

"But the - tree part, at least." 

Vesemir sighed. "I'm getting soft in my dotage, I swear." He cupped his hands to his mouth and hollered, in his best drill-yard voice, "Centre reverrrse!" 

Lambert hated the old man like fire, but just like Eskel and Geralt, he could no more cut off his own head than disobey that tone. He galloped into the centre of the field and then changed direction as sharply as he could while giving his payload a wide berth. Sure enough, Ciri lost her grip on the rope and kept going in Lambert’s original direction, windmilling her arms and screaming. With so much field to decelerate in, she came to a stop before she reached the trees, and had only a short distance to lurch back to the group. 

“That was _amazing!”_ she declared, and then toppled onto her side. "I think my arms are going to fall off." 

"I remember feeling like that," Geralt said as he freed her boots from the skis. 

"You used to do this?" 

"We all did, as boys. We used to make up obstacle courses, actually." 

"Ohhh, let's do that!" 

It all felt less pointless with a child around again: hanging strips of fabric to grab from trees bordering the field, sticking branches into the snow to weave around, packing down a snow-ramp to make jumps from. And then running the course, to boisterous critique from the others - Ciri watching from atop Geralt's shoulders except when she or Geralt took a turn. 

Even Jaskier made an effort, for 'human solidarity'. He acquitted himself surprisingly well, and took highest dramatic offense at their surprise. 

"Have you never noticed, Geralt, that I am usually _walking_ while you ride Roach? Because my _feet_ notice! And furthermore, lutes are heavy!" 

"Alright, alright, you made your point," Eskel chuckled. "Damn, you're cute when you're angry." 

Jaskier, already pink with indignation, turned bright red, but still managed to retort, "I'm cute when I do _everything."_

Geralt felt the strangest pain in his cheeks, and realized it was from smiling so much. 

Lambert brought Red around at a trot. Both man and horse did, in fact, look much happier and more settled by a couple hours of 'going fast'. "Any of you know what Coën's up to?" 

Coën was kicking up a flurry of snow in the centre of the field, and flickers of _Igni_ could be seen from time to time. As they ambled closer, Geralt saw that he was shoveling and packing snow with sweeps of _Aard,_ and heating the layers with _Igni_ to make them melt together and form ice as they cooled again. The shape he was making was a ramp - but _much_ larger and steeper than the little one on the obstacle course ringing the field. 

"Whatcha doing there, Coën?" Eskel asked. 

"Showing you flatlanders how it's done in the Aerie." 

_"Flatlanders?"_ Jaskier spluttered. 

Coën guided another mass of snow into place. His Signs were only middling in power but his control was _very_ fine, much more precise than the Wolf School bothered with. "You didn't need a horse to get to Kaer Seren for the winter; you needed pitons." He smirked. "But getting down again in spring was always fun." 

"Uh, I don't know if Red will be able to pull you up that at speed," Lambert said uncertainly. 

"He won't. He'll just give me a running start." 

True to his word, when Red galloped past the side of the ramp, Coën let go of the rope at the last second and blasted _Aard_ behind himself, launching up the ramp and into the air, where he somersaulted with a whoop. His pockmarked face split with a grin when he stuck the landing. 

"Eskel," Lambert said, "get Scorpion. I _have_ to try that." Geralt was inclined to agree.

"Not happening," Eskel said easily. "You'll just have to share your baby with someone." 

"I'm not making him carry either of you musclebound hulks!" 

Coën, on the other hand, was of a size with Lambert, and this kicked off another round of competition utilizing the new ramp. 

Geralt landed a somersault on his fourth try and punched his fists into the air, feeling all of sixteen again for a moment, especially at the roars of "Ohhh!" from the group. When he headed back to give someone else a turn, he frowned, counting fewer figures than before. Ciri was perched on Coën's shoulders, and Vesemir had returned to the keep, but where was Jaskier? Oh. There. 

"Warm enough, bard?" 

"I am now, thank you," Jaskier said smugly from inside Eskel's enormous fur coat - with Eskel still in it behind him. Eskel, chin propped on Jaskier's shoulder and arms around his waist, had a fat smile. He'd planned this, the smooth bastard. 

"You look like a two-headed rock troll." 

"You joke, but the only reason I'm not making you take this coat with us come spring is it would be too heavy for poor Roach." 

Lambert declared Red done after a few more runs, and they headed back. They found hot mulled wine waiting for them inside the keep, and after half a mug Ciri tottered over to Lambert and hugged him.

"Thank you for taking us skijoring today, Lambert," she said, and kissed his cheek, not seeming to notice or care that he was rigid with shock. She then climbed into Geralt's lap and instantly fell asleep. 

Lambert pointed at Geralt. "Not. One. Word." 

Geralt raised an eyebrow and signed, _Words are HIS job,_ motioning to Jaskier, who had his hands clapped over his mouth, eyes huge and sparkling. Lambert made a disgusted noise and tossed back his wine, then refilled his mug and tossed that back too. 

***

Year In Review was, in Geralt's opinion, one of the stupidest winter traditions. Every year he swore to himself he would sit it out, and every year he got sucked in anyway. 

"The ghouls outside Sodden should count for twelve points! There were at least twelve!" 

_"Unverified_ kills count for half points," Coën said ponderously, taking another swig of White Gull and only chalking up six more marks to Geralt's column on the big slate. Jaskier snickered and scribbled something in his notebook; he'd been shy of taking notes in front of the others since coming to Kaer Morhen, but when the witchers all produced their journals and started bragging from them he evidently felt comfortable seizing the research opportunity. 

"And you should lose a point for not getting paid, and another for getting bit," said Eskel, the traitor, and Geralt grunted as two of his precious points were erased. He thought about arguing that the merchant rescuing him from a warzone and invoking the Law of Surprise counted as payment, but doubted he would win considering the surprise turned out to be Ciri. _Again._ Destiny was welcome to lay off anytime now, really; Geralt didn't need any more convincing and was in fact starting to feel secondhand embarrassment at the heavy-handedness of it all. 

He brightened a moment later, when a thought made its way through the drunken haze. "I got bit! I got a great scar out of it!" 

"Present the scar for judging," Lambert slurred, then, "shit, stop, we'll take your word for it," subsiding into gagging sounds as Geralt rolled down his pants to reveal the bite mark on his thigh. 

Eskel had seen the scar already, of course, but he made a show out of looking it over again. Coën inspected it with real interest, and Geralt even caught Lambert peeking. "You got chewed on pretty good, Wolf. Two points?" No one objected to Eskel's suggestion, and Coën added them back to the tally. "Venom hit you hard?" 

"So hard I met my mother." 

_"Shit,"_ Lambert breathed. "Give the man another point, Coën." They all took another drink. "Take any other contracts on your way here?" 

Geralt tapped the last page of his journal. "Basic stuff. Three drowners, couple of wraiths. I'd lost all my gear, couldn't take anything heavy. 'Specially with the kid." He'd resorted to covering his hair with a tattered cloak and floppy hat in most towns, passing as an old man just hale enough not to mess with, himself and Ciri in boy's clothes just two more unfortunate refugees passing through. Far more forgettable than a down-on-his-luck witcher avoiding work. 

"Basic stuff still counts!" Eskel said, too loudly - a sure sign he was deep in his cups. "Thass why we _do_ this! Five more points!" Geralt didn't argue, not with the dim glow in his chest at seeing all those hunts he didn't usually think of as important turned into white ticks in his column. Work done. Lives saved. It _did_ matter. It all mattered. 

"Now, because _I_ am not Destiny's bitch, I had a _great_ final month," said Lambert. "Read 'em and weep, boys: forktail on the first. Wyvern on the fourth, wyvern's mate _and_ three hatchlings on the fifth, _and_ I got a new scar on my arm-" he yanked up a sleeve and presented the evidence, " _and_ the mate had a bezoar in her stomach the exact size and color of Geralt's fat head." 

"Hey," Geralt said, at the same time Jaskier snapped, "Oi!" Apparently the urge to take offense on his behalf didn't shut off just because they were surrounded by witchers. 

"It reminded me so much of you I almost brought it home, brother, but the town mage made me an offer I couldn't refuse. On the eighth and ninth I cleared out a whole _nest_ of drowners that had taken over some poor sod's fish-farming operation…" Geralt watched glumly as Lambert's column grew and grew. Shown up by his own kid brother. He really _was_ Destiny's bitch. 

Eskel's review was even better, which cheered Geralt up somewhat, and apparently Coën had channeled the loss of his School into some _seriously_ hard work because his score blew everyone else's out of the water. None of them had the heart to contest his victory as per tradition, and instead skipped straight to exhorting him to tap and share his prize: a whole keg of Mahakaman ale. 

He did. 

Several hours later, clinging for dear life to the flagstones around the hearth, Geralt sort of wished he hadn't. Maybe then the earth wouldn't now be doing its level best to fling him off into space. 

"Can witchers die of alcohol poisoning?" Jaskier asked. 

"We may yet find out," Eskel moaned. 

"It explains so much about Geralt that Vesemir calls you the responsible one." 

Coën belched. "The - urp - duality of man." 

With enormous effort, Geralt rolled his head, which felt about as heavy and unclean as a giant wyvern bezoar. Jaskier came into view, a slim shape sitting propped against the wall, just out of puking distance from the pile of miserable witchers by the fire. In the dim light, with Geralt's vision blurred by drink, Jaskier's lack of eyeshine was especially eerie; he was just a vague, wavering outline, no punctuation at all.

Before Geralt could speak, Jaskier said quickly, "Sign it, dear heart. You were arguing so loudly before." 

_You drunk?_

"Oh, very, but not _quite_ on the same level as you lot." 

_Go to bed._

"Much as I hate to miss a drunk walk alone up that death-trap staircase, I'm afraid I'm resolved to stay here." 

_What for?_

"So I can roll you onto your sides if need be. It wouldn't do to have a hero of the North die aspirating his own vomit." 

_Not heroes._

"You may not have been doing the math tonight, but I was. The four of you saved between five and six thousand lives this year alone." He wiggled a foot in aimless circles. "Maybe humans are pushing the other races out because we sacrifice our best to protect the rest." He said this last quietly, as if to himself, and Geralt couldn't think of anything to say in response anyway. 

Coën could. "I wish - I wish more humans thought that way." Even drunk off his ass, the grief and rage in his voice were miles deep, like the unknown depths of the open ocean. 

"I'm working on it," Jaskier said, even quieter. More cheerfully, he added, "Get some sleep, heroes. Doubtless Papa Vesemir will punish us all by frying eggs in the morning." Lambert made a pathetic whimper that died into a bubbling snore. 

As he drifted off, Geralt could hear Eskel saying seriously to Jaskier, "It could be worse. One year the prize was a big bottle of anise liqueur." 

"Oh, fuck. Now _I_ might throw up." 

***

"Geralt, are you in here? Have you seen my-"

 _"Shhhh."_ Judging by the way Eskel's thighs vibrated under Geralt's head, he'd accompanied his hiss with some violent hand motions. "Keep your voice down!" 

"Sorry," Jaskier said much more quietly. The air currents in the room shifted as he came closer and crouched beside the bed. Geralt could smell everything he'd eaten for the last two days, the kind of twig he'd cleaned his teeth with, the ink and paper he'd been handling, the dried saliva on a bitten nail. His head hurt. "What's going on, Geralt? Why are you blindfolded? And why are you _green?"_

"It's an alchemy thing," Eskel murmured. 

"I've seen Geralt do any number of appalling 'alchemy things' over the years, but none that made him look like a- a spinach-infused baking experiment gone wrong. And why the blindfold?" 

"Do you remember how we drew straws last night?" 

"Yes. Geralt drew the short one and skipped supper." 

"That's because it's his turn to purify the year's supply of ivermite." 

"When you say purify…" 

"It's an important reagent, but the base ingredient is hard to get and too contaminated to use as is." Geralt snorted softly to express how much of an understatement that all was. "A witcher can break down the contaminants in their liver and flush the useful part out the kidneys. Speaking of, that's time. Drink up, Wolf." Eskel tilted Geralt's head and held a water bottle to his lips. It tasted of ginger and mint - just a hint, swirled in the jug and then removed again - and it wasn't hard to suck down in long draughts. Geralt waved it away when he couldn't take anymore, his stomach cold and sloshing. The more water he drank, the faster the fucking ivermite would flush out of his system, but not if he overshot and vomited. 

"So those glass jars Lambert's been carrying into the lab all morning are coming from here." 

A rustle like Eskel nodded. 

"And the bright green stuff in them is - piss?" Jaskier's voice didn't rise in volume, but it did rise in pitch. "When you put those little green crystals in your potions, you're drinking each other's _piss?"_

"Only insofar as when you eat a steak you're eating grass. A lot happens to it on the way to forming those crystals." 

"I don't know why I'm shocked," Jaskier muttered. "That still doesn't explain the blindfold." 

"There are a lot of side effects: vertigo, nausea - that's why it's a good idea to have an empty stomach - but the worst are all senses being painfully heightened, and losing all the discipline normally used to cope." Eskel stroked Geralt's hair; he nuzzled shamelessly into it. "Sight's the only sense easily taken out of play."

"Why do you _do_ this to yourselves?" Jaskier burst out. 

"We prefer not to. Hence drawing lots to make one poor bastard do it for all of us once a year." 

"I meant in general. I haven't seen a potion yet that doesn't take a heavy toll, and _this_ is what getting the ingredients looks like?" 

"This ingredient. Most of the others are less dramatic." Eskel sighed like Jaskier was glaring at him for his pedantry. "Potions make us more effective. The more effective we are, the longer we live, the more people we save. It's just math." 

"Just math, he says," Jaskier grumbled. "Well, doubt I'm going to budge three hundred years of miserable self-martyring tradition. How can I help? Geralt? Could I bring my lute in here? Give you something to focus on?" 

Geralt thought for a moment, and signed, _Quiet, yes._ He hated signing when no one else was, but Eskel wasn't kidding about the loss of discipline. He literally could not force himself to speak, to bear even that tiny pain, no matter that it wouldn't feel quite so tiny right now. 

"You know I can play quietly. I'll just be a minute." He shut the door carefully behind him, and Geralt listened to his feet: moving down the hall to the room he'd staked out for his notes (and also for fucking Geralt with less risk of waking Ciri), and then to - the kitchen? 

When he came back in, Eskel said, "What's the bowl for?" 

"An experiment." Jaskier sounded like he was smiling. He clambered into the bed, sitting - probably cross-legged with his lute in his lap - a couple of feet from Geralt's ear. He strummed a soft chord. "How's that? Too loud?"

Geralt shook his head; it still sounded loud to him, but not _too_ loud. It might be nice to have Jaskier's playing drown out everything else he was hearing. How were there _so many_ rats in the castle when there were barely any people? 

"Okay, now here's a neat trick. My fellow music students and I used to do this for each other, especially strung out on various feeble human drugs." He reached over Geralt's head, and nestled something solid in the furs covering the bed; that must be the bowl Eskel asked about. "What do you think of this?" 

He played another chord, and this time it echoed off the bowl. It was like the sound was coming from _inside_ Geralt's head. He gasped, breaking out in gooseflesh. 

"Good?" Now there was _definitely_ a smile in Jaskier's voice. Geralt managed a tiny nod. 

Jaskier started to play properly, not singing, just plucking out melodies. Geralt recognized the first few, but as time wore on - he drank more water and filled the jar beside the bed, and Lambert crept in and took it, without comment beyond pausing for a moment when he first entered the room - the songs grew less and less familiar, and eventually ceased to be recognizable as distinct songs at all. Wooden percussive noises crept in, and Geralt realized Jaskier was knocking the body of his lute with his knuckles and slapping it with his palm, all without letting up on the strings. In fact, his fingering seemed to be getting faster. 

Geralt knew, without being told, that this music couldn't be found written down anywhere in the world. It had never been played before and would never be played again, not exactly like this. This was what lived behind Jaskier's compulsive composing and performing, like the omnipresent magic witchers drew on for their Signs. 

The music no longer felt like it was in Geralt's head; instead, he felt as if _he_ were inside the _music._ It was a river, sweeping him up and carrying him, his only remaining anchor points the warmth of Eskel's legs and hands. Geralt squirmed and twitched from time to time, certain sequences of notes setting off bizarre cascades of sensation in his body; he thought that if there were a way to get this sensitive without feeling so sick, it might be possible for Jaskier to make him come like this. As it was, he panted through it, letting the music overwhelm every other shitty sensation clamoring for his attention. 

It went on for a long time. Geralt lost track of how many times he drank and pissed, which was a miracle in its own right, but Lambert came and swapped out the jars at least once more, so it had to have been several hours. At last the notes faded away, and Jaskier hissed in pain, probably massaging his hands. Geralt reached for them and took them in his own: they were hot, all the small muscles quivering with fatigue. He rubbed them, firmly, until they seemed less stiff. He kissed the knuckles and kept them pressed to his face, overwhelmed with some feeling he couldn't name, grateful suddenly to have his eyes hidden behind the blindfold. 

"That's why," Eskel said solemnly. 

"Why what?" 

"Why I want you to come to our bed. You see what I see. You - care as I care. And that's how I know we'll suit just fine." 

Jaskier took a deep breath and blew it out. "Okay." His voice wobbled a little. "Okay. When Geralt here isn't green anymore - and you _are_ looking much better already, my dear, but there's no rush - let's make it happen." 

"It's a date." The warm rush of lust in Eskel's scent - and Jaskier's - was delightful. Geralt tried not to be too obvious about savoring it. 

"You're one hell of a musician, but you know that." 

"Darling," Jaskier preened, "I am a _Master Bard._ That's not an affectation, nor is the title conferred simply for perfect attendance or having a rich daddy. My lute is - she's like your swords, I guess." 

"Nobody has ever made anything that beautiful with a sword." 

"I disagree so hard I think I'm going to have to write a song about it." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY 
> 
> 1\. Geralt's larynx is permanently scarred from the Trial of the Grasses. He can't speak without pain (dysphonia) and he can't shout without bleeding. 
> 
> 2\. Jaskier learned this and the very next day he dusted off his old temple school classes in Redanian 'valley sign' (kind of a Martha's Vineyard situation) and proposed teaching it to everyone to give Geralt a break from speaking. 
> 
> 3\. This impressed Eskel very much because he thought to do the same thing (he's not Redanian, but he knew some 'home sign' courtesy of a deaf grandmother) back when he was trying to help Geralt heal after the Trials. He decided he would like to hit that, with Geralt. 
> 
> OTHER NOTES
> 
> 1\. One sex scene in this chapter, beginning at the first trio of asterisks.
> 
> 2\. Coën is a Griffin School witcher from the books (and slated to appear in season 2 of the Netflix show). He winters at Kaer Morhen for the first time the same year Ciri arrives, because his School (and its stronghold, Kaer Seren) was recently destroyed in a pogrom.
> 
> 3\. If you've never laid down on the floor with two stereo speakers aimed at either side of your head and playing your absolute favorite song, I highly recommend trying it.
> 
> 4\. Geralt's aversion to his own body odor is lifted directly from bomberqueen17's superlative [Meet Death Sitting](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1639717) series, which I cannot recommend highly enough. I absorbed the majority of the headcanons within it instantly upon exposure.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Threesome! All smut all the time, baby.

Things Geralt did not expect from life: asking Lambert (and Coën) to occupy his daughter(!) for an evening so he could have a sex appointment (with Eskel and Jaskier, _at the same time)._

"Sure, have fun. I know we will." 

He also would have expected Lambert to be more of a dick about it, but then his brother adored Ciri. They all did. 

"Hey, a crossbow's a good weapon for a 12-year-old, right?" 

There it was. He told himself uneasily that Coën would rein them in, and tried to forget the mental image of Coën _Aard_ -ing himself up a ski-jump ramp. And then his feet were carrying him up to Eskel's room and he couldn't think of anything but the singular sensation of butterflies in his stomach. 

Jaskier greeted him on the other side of the door, kissing him eagerly, and then put a glass of wine in one hand and led him by the other to the hearth. 

"There you are! I was wondering what was taking so long. Are you nervous? I'm a little nervous. It's okay to be nervous." Geralt didn't try to impede his babbling, just squeezed Jaskier's hand in the affirmative. Jaskier squeezed back, shooting him a relieved look. 

Eskel was just laying down the last of what looked like every single fur from his, Geralt's, and Jaskier's beds - not that Jaskier used his much, preferring to bunk with Geralt, but when he _did_ sleep alone he needed a _lot_ of furs to keep warm. They looked like even more now, a sea of glossy black and brown and grey. Geralt shivered just thinking about how it would feel against his bare skin; rolling around on furs was one of the most decadent things he and Eskel did together. He drained his wine glass and set it aside carefully; the last thing he wanted to do was break it _now._

Just clear of the furs was a basin, a steaming pitcher of water, and a neatly-folded stack of small towels. That would be Jaskier's contribution. He knew just as well as Eskel how much Geralt needed to be wiped down after sex, to keep the smell of his own spend from tormenting him. Eskel still had the boyhood habit of cleaning with whatever laundry was close at hand, but Jaskier made a deliberate point of being ready to wash before they even started. 

Seeing their respective preparations warmed Geralt clear through, even better than the fire crackling in the hearth and the wine Jaskier had given him. This was going to be _fun._

"Why would you be nervous?" Eskel was saying, sounding genuinely curious. "You've done this sort of thing before." 

"Not when it - mattered, not this much. And - well," Jaskier scratched the back of his neck, "you're both _so_ very beautiful." 

Geralt scoffed, "Eskel, maybe," just as Eskel said, "Geralt, maybe." 

Jaskier clapped his hands, jolted out of his awkwardness. "Jinx! You're both wrong about yourselves and right about the other, and I cannot be blamed for finding the prospect a bit much." 

Eskel smiled at him helplessly. Geralt knew the feeling, for all he was better at hiding it. "You talk a lot." 

"Sorry, can't be helped." 

"Didn't say I minded." He stood up and approached Jaskier, sliding a hand around his waist and the other around the back of his neck, and kissed him. 

Geralt's breath caught. He knew how it felt to be kissed like that, how broad and solid and warm Eskel was. And he knew Jaskier's moan, somehow eloquent even when muffled, and the way his hands moved in long strokes over Eskel's chest and shoulders. He'd worried, a little, that he would feel jealous seeing them together, but instead he just felt as turned-on as he'd ever been in his life. 

And all those gorgeous furs _were_ right there…

Not taking his eyes off Eskel and Jaskier making out, he stripped off his clothes and went to his knees on the fur - and then to his belly, splaying his arms and wriggling in the glorious silky softness. His groan echoed the one Jaskier made when Eskel dropped a hand to his ass and squeezed. The two of them broke apart to look at him. 

"Getting started without us, darling?" 

Geralt rolled onto his back and rubbed more of his skin into the lake of furs, lifting his hips and stiffening cock like an offering. "What are you gonna do about it?" 

He couldn't quite believe it when his lovers called him beautiful, but neither could he deny the way their eyes darkened as they watched him move. "Good question," Eskel growled, and went to kneel at his side, but Geralt lifted a foot and yanked at his pants with his toes. 

"Get these _off."_

"Oh, let me," Jaskier offered, "I've never gotten to undress you before." 

Eskel licked his lips. "Same." 

Watching them peel each other's clothes off was enough to get Geralt sitting up so he could touch their skin as it was revealed. He laughed out loud when Eskel got Jaskier out of his shirt and grunted with delight. 

"Fuck, Wolf, you weren't kidding. Look at that _vest,"_ he exclaimed, running his fingers through the thick mat of Jaskier's chest hair and then burying his face in it, sniffing loudly. 

Jaskier looked askance at Geralt, who shrugged. "Eskel likes hair. It's a thing." 

"Is _that_ why you keep it long?" 

"His one vanity," Eskel muttered, dancing his fingers down Jaskier's treasure trail to start on the waistband of his pants. 

"It's a _trademark._ But yeah, that too." Geralt couldn't remember ever admitting it out loud before. It helped that Jaskier needed to hear it, to get him up to speed on things he hadn't had a hundred years to learn. 

Eskel rubbed Jaskier's nipples, watching his face carefully. "Like that?" 

Jaskier bit his lip and nodded. With the fly of his pants open and his shirt gone, he already looked wonderfully disheveled. 

Eskel slid a hand into Geralt's hair and tugged him closer, kissing him hard for a moment then moving him to face one of Jaskier's nipples while he lowered his mouth to the other. Geralt got the clue and licked at the pink nub of flesh, listening to the hummingbird flutter of Jaskier's human heart. Eskel's hand never left his hair, combing it with his fingers.

"Oh, fuck," Jaskier said, in the deeper register he fell into sometimes when he was in trouble - or _very_ aroused, which looped around to mean the same thing all too often. Eskel had slid his hand inside Jaskier's pants, getting acquainted with his cock even as he licked and sucked at Jaskier's nipple, learning the way he shivered and twitched. Geralt reckoned they must look quite the pair, dark head and silver bent to Jaskier's chest and nursing his pleasure from him. He tilted his head to look up, so Jaskier could see the glint of his eyes and the lewd curl of his tongue. He knew that was something Jaskier liked. 

"Fuuuuck," Jaskier said, voice shaking, "I'm going to need you to slow down a bit, my dears. I have big plans and but one mortal corpus with which to enact them." 

Eskel let his nipple go with a loud smacking sound. "What kind of plans?"

"Well, step one is to finally get you out of those pants." 

Eskel winked. "Likewise." Tight pants were much sexier to look at than they were to remove, but Geralt enjoyed seeing their naked legs and hard cocks appear anyway. He felt an unexpected glee, watching the looks on their faces as they saw each other naked for the first time. 

"Oh fucking hell, you're as big as he is!" Jaskier stammered, brushing Eskel's shoulder and then squeezing his pec, seemingly involuntarily while he stared at Eskel's cock. _"Magnificent."_

Eskel grinned. "Look who's talking. It takes _work_ to hide all that under those poncey clothes. _Damn."_

Geralt couldn't stop himself saying, "I know, right?" He still couldn't get over how _well_ Jaskier disguised the fact he was a big, rangy, lean-muscled beast in his own right. 

"Excuse you, my tailor works very hard to achieve that exact effect. No one wants to hire a rake - mmph!" Geralt hadn't planned to kiss him then; it just happened. He was full of affection for the way Jaskier remained his essential, effusive self under all circumstances. And then he turned to Eskel and kissed him too, moved by a similar gratitude for his steady confidence. His constant friends. 

It was Eskel's firm hand on his waist that made Geralt realize he was shaking a little. "Excited?" Eskel murmured when they parted. Geralt nodded. Eskel's smile was _filthy._ "Don't I have good ideas?" 

"Great ideas," Geralt affirmed between sucking bites to Eskel's neck as Jaskier and Eskel kissed some more, "the best."

"Mmfm, ah! Ideas, yes," Jaskier panted. "Eskel, I ha-have to ask you some things. Probably should have done sooner." 

"Ask away," Eskel murmured, now sniffing and mouthing at Jaskier's neck, one big hand groping Jaskier's cock while the other held fast to Geralt's waist. 

"So, just, um, hazarding a guess, if you've been with Geralt all this time you have to enjoy topping, yes?" 

Eskel chuckled. "Not much of a guess." 

"Hey," said Geralt, feeling obscurely offended. 

"Darling, that is in no way a complaint. I could do nothing but strive to satisfy this luscious," Jaskier palmed his buttock, "hungry," he squeezed it, "moon-pale arse for the rest of my days, and die a happy man." He planted a dry kiss on Geralt's hot cheek. 

"What the bard said," Eskel rumbled, squeezing Geralt's other buttock. To Jaskier, he said, "I only like topping. We checked." 

Jaskier smiled widely. "That works out really, really well for me, because I like everything." 

"Not _everything,"_ Geralt couldn't resist pointing out. 

Jaskier rolled his eyes. "I like a _wide variety_ of things, more than even a witcher could do in a single night, and I think it would be _brilliant_ if Eskel fucked me into you!" He cleared his throat. "Erm, that is, if you both want that." 

Eskel's mouth was hanging open, just a little. Geralt's had gone dry. He swallowed hard and rasped, "I like that plan." 

It took some arranging, between Geralt finding in himself a blazing want to see _everything_ and Jaskier needing to provide access to his own ass and have his hands free at the same time, but at last they wound up in a pile of limbs amongst the furs. Geralt sat with his legs out and much of his weight leaned back on his hands, while Jaskier lay propped on his elbows between Geralt's legs, slurping at his cock and working oiled fingers into his hole. Eskel knelt behind Jaskier, arm muscles bunching as he worked at his own task of opening Jaskier up.

"Shit, you're tight. Been a while?" 

Jaskier moaned in the affirmative, and the vibration to Geralt's cock sent sparks dancing out across his skin like a kicked campfire. He was already keyed-up, full of the sight of Eskel and Jaskier like this, and the feeling of Jaskier's mouth on him and fingers in him, and _still_ the softness of the furs under him, and abruptly he tipped over the edge into the first orgasm of the night. He threw his head back as his spine arched, hoarse groans tearing out of him as he spilled down Jaskier's throat.

He opened his eyes to Jaskier wiping his mouth. He and Eskel were both staring at him, with unnervingly similar hungry expressions. "I think," Jaskier said in an oddly shrill voice, "I just firmed up a few plans for what to do after I recover from my turn in the middle." 

Eskel _tsked_ and did something that made Jaskier's eyes roll back in his head. "You're just as bad as he is for thinking too far ahead." 

"How's this for thinking ahead?" Geralt rumbled, "get up here and get _in_ me." Jaskier only had two fingers in his ass, but his blood was humming and his muscles were slack with relief; the stretch of Jaskier's cock would feel nothing but good.

"Half a moment." Jaskier groped for the wine bottle and took a swig, swishing it in his mouth before he swallowed.

"You don't have to," Geralt muttered. His neurotic disgust for his own spunk didn't really kick in until sex was over. 

"I want to," Jaskier argued, crawling up Geralt's body, Eskel shuffling gamely behind him. Jaskier slicked his cock and lined it up, then kissed Geralt lavishly as he sank into him. His mouth was sweet and chilled from the wine, his cock smooth and hot as it thrummed with Jaskier's racing pulse. "I want you to know only pleasure, only delight, my sweet one, because that is _my_ delight." He was splitting Geralt open, forcing his body to make a space for Jaskier, deeper inside him with every unhurried thrust. 

"Your muscles feel really weird around my fingers when you move," Eskel commented. 

Jaskier laughed breathlessly and hilted himself in Geralt. "The feeling is mutual, my dear. But I think I'm in position, now - you can keep going." 

It _had_ been a while, judging by Jaskier's face as Eskel continued opening him up. His face, and the half-thrilled, half-wounded noises he made, and the way, truth be told, his erection wilted a little inside of Geralt. But he never smelled of distress - and Geralt was monitoring pretty closely. The rhythmic flares of Eskel's nostrils suggested he was too. 

"Melitele's _tits,"_ Jaskier muttered, "you're _both_ smelling me, aren't you?" 

"Hazards of getting into bed with two witchers," Eskel pointed out. He rotated his arm, punching a delicious little gasp out of Jaskier. "You're taking four fingers pretty well. I think you're about ready for my cock." Jaskier squeaked and nodded rapidly. 

"You may be interested to know," Jaskier babbled as Eskel nudged his knees apart, and then moved _Geralt's_ legs to make more room for Jaskier's to spread wide enough for Eskel to get close, "that I've never actually taken a witcher's cock before." 

"Running with Geralt, that doesn't surprise me." Geralt glared. Eskel winked, then eased himself forward. Jaskier's eyes went huge and he let out a long, quavering moan. 

"It's just been a long time - ohhh - since I had any kind of virginity left to - mm! - to lose, ohsweetmotherof _fuck_ you're big." 

"You doing okay?" Eskel asked gently. 

"Great," Jaskier said, dropping his forehead to Geralt's collarbone. His fingers splayed and flexed fretfully on Geralt's chest, and he was breaking out into a fine sweat. Geralt stroked his hair. Jaskier shifted his head to smile blearily at him. "Hey. Hey, Geralt." 

"What?"

"How do you like your pie filling now?" 

Geralt snorted. 

"I don't get it," Eskel complained. 

"He's getting back at me for an insult from a decade ago. Keep going." Eskel did, and Jaskier whined, and Geralt tilted his head a little more to kiss him, offer him the same comfort Jaskier gave when he took Geralt just a few minutes ago. Jaskier moaned gratefully, sliding his tongue into Geralt's mouth. Geralt shuddered, filled above and below - even if below was more theoretical at the moment, and wouldn't hold up to thrusting until Jaskier rallied. 

Eskel pressed his hips flush to Jaskier's ass, then bent low and rained kisses onto his shoulderblades. "That's all of it," he said, "you've taken the whole thing. You feel really good, Jaskier. It's hard to hold still." He was quivering, very finely but Geralt could see it, could feel it right through Jaskier between them, how hard he was working to leash his power for now. 

Jaskier released Geralt's mouth to say, "You can move. Please move." There was a dreamy quality to his voice that Geralt vaguely recognized from the other side. He was glad Eskel could give Jaskier this. He was eager to get it himself. 

Eskel rolled his hips in place, a sinuous motion that exploited his strength to make it feel much more powerful than it looked. It worked as well on Jaskier as it did on Geralt. He moaned softly and his prick almost immediately started to firm back up again inside Geralt's ass.

Geralt chuckled and caught Eskel's eye. "Whoosh," he said. 

"Ugh," Jaskier groaned, _"my_ cock is the normal one, you know." 

"Not in this room," Eskel teased, trying a small thrust.

 _"Ugh,_ you _nerds,"_ but Jaskier's cock got all the way hard again as he said it, and he chased Eskel's hips back on the next thrust, and when Eskel pushed forward again he pushed Jaskier into Geralt. 

"Fuck," Geralt hissed. 

"That's - hah - that's the idea, darling," Jaskier panted, "oh Eskel that's _marvelous,_ yes." He and Eskel found a rhythm quickly: a slightly disjointed one, where Eskel would pull back and then Jaskier would fuck himself back onto him, and then Eskel would send him forward again. It was mindbending for Geralt, Jaskier's cock thudding into him with Eskel's implacable force. 

Jaskier picked up on that, of course. "He's so _strong,_ dear heart, as strong as - ah! - as strong as you. Do you like that? Do you like him making me fuck you as hard as he does?" 

Geralt couldn't manage more than a helpless groan. His cock had pulsed slowly back to life all through Jaskier taking Eskel, and was now leaking copiously, smearing precome between his and Jaskier's bellies, lighting with additional pleasure every time Jaskier pressed _(was_ pressed) into him. 

Eskel's laugh was dark and rich, the kind of laugh that made Geralt break out in gooseflesh. "Oh, he likes it. Just as much as he likes your _filthy fucking mouth,_ gods." 

"My dear Eskel," Jaskier purred, "I'm just getting _started."_ He followed through on his boast by shifting his weight so he could jack Geralt's cock. "Shall I tell you what I see? What I feel?" 

Could they stop him? No. Geralt grunted his assent, already starting to shake. 

"You both," Jaskier timed his words with their three-beat rhythm, back-back-forth, "feel - _amazing._ Eskel, I love feeling your thighs - chest - arms - mouth, not to mention your perfect fat dick. I need to be facing you next so I can see you. And Geralt, darling, you're doing _so well."_

Geralt threw a hand over his eyes, an undignified whine breaking out of him. 

"No, no, don't you hide your beautiful eyes, it's naught but the truth. Come on, look at me." With an effort, Geralt dropped his hand and opened his eyes. Jaskier beamed at him, pink-cheeked, hair askew. "There you are. _Good._ You're being _so_ good for us, love, and we're going to take care of you." The words were like the turn of a key in a lock, and Geralt came again, helplessly, gasping open-mouthed, caught by Jaskier's gaze. Jaskier continued, almost conversationally but for the tremor in his voice, "Fill you right up, isn't that right, Eskel?"

"Holy _shit."_ Eskel looked close to his own peak: red-faced, one cheek hollowing as he bit the inside, trying to hold back even as his hips pistoned with a mind of their own.

"Oh, darling, are you close? Are you going to come?" Jaskier released Geralt's cock to reach back and stroke Eskel's shoulder. "Please, I would love to feel that. I'm _very_ close myself, and I think that would do the trick." He braced his hand on Geralt's chest. "Give it to me. Give it to _him_ \- oh, fuck!" His eyes widened as Eskel seized his hips in what looked like a bruising grip and hammered home, so hard Geralt skidded across the furs, and then Jaskier's knees went out from under him and he and Eskel fell down onto Geralt just as they were coming. 

"Shit, shit, fuck, are you okay?" Eskel panted, still shaking with aftershocks - maybe some of those were Jaskier's, as well. 

"I think so. Geralt?" 

Geralt wheezed. He was _not_ okay. He had four hundred pounds on top of him. Frantically he signed, _Up, up._

"Shit, stupid question. Off, get off." Eskel rolled off to one side - Jaskier winced as Eskel pulled free of him - and then Jaskier toppled to the other. Geralt sucked in a huge inhale to get back the air that had been knocked out of him. 

They lay there, three abreast, variously sticky, winded, and mortified. Jaskier started to giggle. Eskel chuckled, and then made that stupid honking snort he did when trying to breathe while laughing, and Jaskier clutched his belly and _howled._ Even Geralt found himself shaking with rusty, near-silent laughter, unable to hold it in even though it hurt almost as much as shouting. 

"Oh. Oh, gods." Jaskier sat up, wiping his streaming eyes, and looked at Geralt. "But seriously, are you okay?" 

"Mm. Bit flatter, maybe." 

Jaskier spluttered and collapsed onto his chest in another fit of giggles. Geralt patted his back. 

Eskel rolled towards him and signed, _The shit I get up to because of you._

 _You love it,_ Geralt signed back, and Eskel knocked their heads together gently, then started kissing him. 

It didn't take long for his happiness to flower into arousal again. The rumble in his chest must have tipped Jaskier off, because he nuzzled into Geralt for a moment, squeezed his pec and then started playing with his nipple. He surrounded Geralt's cock with the fingers of his other hand, not squeezing or stroking, just holding him lightly and feeling him stir. 

"You poor thing," Jaskier crooned, "I mean for us to use you hard tonight, but not quite like that." 

Eskel swept his tongue thickly into Geralt's mouth like he liked what Jaskier was saying, like he was thinking, as Geralt was, about how he might be used. Filled up, Jaskier had promised they would fill him up, and Geralt shuddered, and moaned around Eskel's tongue, _aching_ for it. 

"Mmm, yes, I think we're back in business. Hang on." Jaskier got up and moved over to where the towels and wash water were, and briskly but thoroughly wiped himself down. He winced as he did it. "Oh, I'm a bit tender after all that. You'll have to take your time getting me ready to fuck you again, darling." He came back to Geralt and knelt by his head, stroking his cheek. "But I know you can do it. Even if Eskel's fucking you already, I know that pretty mouth will take my cock just fine." 

Eskel released Geralt's mouth with a wet little _smack_. "You want that, Wolf? Us taking you from both ends?" He grinned crookedly. "I promise not to crash us this time." Geralt licked his lips and nodded. 

"Well then," Jaskier said, "get over here." He slid his fingers into Geralt's hair and tugged until his face was in Jaskier's lap. He smelled blessedly clean, just a tantalizing hint of Jaskier's come (which Geralt liked almost as much as he hated his own) in the slit of his cockhead. 

"I hope I got enough?" Jaskier asked.

"Mm." There were traces of Geralt's scent on Jaskier, especially on his fuzzy belly and in the line of darker hair in the middle there, but they were too diluted by Jaskier's own smells to be bothersome. It even smelled - to his shock - sort of good.

Eskel stroked his warm palms firmly down Geralt's flanks. "Gonna feel you for a bit," he said, "while I get ready again." Geralt felt a little swoop in his stomach when his legs were pulled apart. He felt Eskel's gaze on his hole, oozing Jaskier's come, like a physical touch. 

He hid his hot face by nuzzling into Jaskier's crotch, sniffing and licking, rubbing his face in the crinkly hair. Jaskier didn't flinch when he made contact with the plush, silky skin of his cock, and hummed with pleasure when Geralt licked him, so he took that as a sign the most overwhelming sensitivity had faded and he could start sucking him - gently, at least. 

"That's lovely, that's perfect, my dear," Jaskier said, petting his hair now in long strokes as Geralt opened wide and sort of - mouthed him in place, rather than suck him all the way in yet. "You're so good, giving me time to catch up. Gods, I swear your hair is the softest thing I've ever touched. Eskel, do you think your 'thing' for hair is because of Geralt's?" 

"I mean, probably," Eskel reflected. Geralt heard the _pop_ of a cork and a small glug, and then Eskel's slippery fingers were probing between his asscheeks. Not that Geralt needed it, after being oiled up and fucked once, but Eskel liked him as sloppy as he could get him. "Most of who we are is because of each other, I think." 

"I'm so glad you had that, here," Jaskier said warmly, still petting Geralt's hair, his neck, his cheek. "And have it now still. Thank you for inviting me to share in it." 

"Oh, anytime." Eskel plunged two of his fingers right into Geralt's hole to the knuckle, squeezing Geralt's thigh reassuringly with his free hand. Geralt whined and sucked Jaskier's soft cock into his mouth, needing the mass of it. Nestled on his tongue he felt the rushing of the tiny blood vessels, just starting to plump it up. Eskel went on, "You're sharing with me too, you know. Been a real eye-opener." 

"Mmh." Jaskier rocked his hips a little, probably feeling it as he got gradually harder and Geralt started to suck him in earnest. "How so?" 

"Not just the talking, plenty of folk can run their mouth. It's _what_ you say that gets to him." Eskel added another finger, stretching Geralt in earnest now, and he sort of flinched _into_ it because Eskel's fingers felt so thick and hard against his inner walls, sensitive from getting fucked earlier. It was hard to take and that made it _better._

"Well, words are my specialty." Jaskier said it smoothly, but Geralt felt him get harder in his mouth with an almost witcher-like twitch. 

"Plus of course, just having another cock and two more hands to wrangle him with." 

_"So_ true." Jaskier pressed his fingertips to Geralt's hollow cheek, his stretched lips. "We should do this more often, dear heart. Twice the hands to arrange you as we see fit, twice the cocks to satisfy you. I do so love to see you getting what you need." 

"Speaking of, up you get, Wolf." Eskel urged Geralt from his twisted half-supine position to hands and knees, then grasped his hips firmly. "Ready?" The head of his dick touched his hole, smooth and thick and sure to ruin him. 

Geralt grunted around his mouthful of Jaskier's half-hard cock, and stretched his back trying to get Eskel into him. Eskel pushed forward, and Geralt groaned and clutched Jaskier's thighs. 

Jaskier squeezed his hands. "I know love, I know. It's a lot to take. I took it myself just a few minutes ago. So big and thick, you wonder if you really can take it all." Geralt knew, of course he knew that he could, having done it for decades before Jaskier was even born, but it _felt_ true. Like Eskel was stretching out his ass beyond what it could take. It made his face hot and his limbs weak every time, that first dizzying push of _so much_ into his body. And then Eskel drew back, and pushed in _farther_ , and nudged up against his prostate, and Geralt swallowed convulsively around Jaskier's cockhead where it was just starting to breach his throat and he was. Filled. Just like they promised. 

"Oh," Jaskier breathed, "how I wish I could see your face right now. Your mouth is so good, Geralt, so willing." He still wasn't fully hard, but he had enough to move with, rolling his hips in time with Eskel's. 

Their rhythm was smooth, unhurried, like the lapping of ocean waves, and Geralt drifted on it until Jaskier said, "Stop. Oh, stop. Hold on." Eskel stopped. Geralt whined pitifully and tried to suckle harder at Jaskier, who only laughed softly and gripped his jaw, breaking the seal of his lips and cheeks with a finger, like Geralt had once seen a mother do to free her tit from her babe. 

Jaskier tilted Geralt's face up to look at him. "You'll get my cock, darling, and my come, but it's going to be up your gorgeous ass again." He winked. "With Eskel's." 

Geralt breathed out harshly, and Jaskier's smile grew. "Your pupils blew _so_ wide just now. All I can see are rings of gold." 

"Means he wants it," Eskel supplied. His dick had twitched inside Geralt's ass at Jaskier's suggestion.

"Of course he _wants_ it. But I need to hear you say it, Geralt." 

Geralt licked his lips. "Yeah," he growled, "do it." 

"Wonderful. We'll make it so good for you." He pulled at Geralt's shoulders, nudging him up onto his knees, and then Eskel pulled him back until he was resting on his thighs, his back flush to Eskel's broad chest. 

"There. Oh, that's _lovely."_ Jaskier's voice pitched very low again, betraying just how much he liked what he was seeing. He moved Geralt's legs until they were splayed on either side of Eskel's, and Geralt moaned helplessly at how _deep_ Eskel's cock was. Then Eskel spread _his_ legs, forcing Geralt's even wider, taking even more of his weight, and Geralt's head fell back onto Eskel's shoulder. All his strength leached out of him and very possibly into Eskel, whose core was something quiet and strong as a mountain, a heavy, wild stillness that Geralt craved at all times, sought like a compass needle pointing north. 

Eskel kissed his temple. "There you go." He shifted his hips slowly back and forth, stirring his cock inside Geralt. 

"I love it when your body just gives resistance up as a bad job, Geralt." Jaskier entered the space Eskel had so blatantly created, bottle of oil in hand. "I love how quickly you get there with Eskel's help. This is what you really are: this sweet, yielding creature." He brushed a hair out of Geralt's face, and Geralt was helpless to stop himself from turning his face into his palm. "It's the most precious secret. I swear I will always strive to be worthy of keeping it." 

He kissed Geralt then, holding his face in both hands. If Eskel was the mountain holding him up, Jaskier was the sun upon his skin, bathing him in light and heat. 

When Jaskier insinuated his first, dripping finger into Geralt's ass alongside Eskel's cock, Geralt made a cracked noise and came instantly. He hadn't even been aware he was hard, let alone close to orgasm. Eskel wrapped his arms around his chest and Jaskier pressed warm against him, feeling Geralt shiver in a way that had nothing to do with cold. "That's it, my treasure. Let yourself feel it." 

Geralt moaned when he realized Jaskier wasn't stopping, was in fact slipping another finger within his overstretched, oversensitized rim. "Too much, it's too much," he gasped. He would have tensed had he not been rendered so boneless. The only tension left in his body was in his cock, which he realized wasn't going to be allowed to go down now until the end. 

"Tell us to stop and we will," Jaskier promised, "but I think you know too much is exactly what you need. And we'll give it to you, got it right here for you." Eskel kissed the side of his neck, silent agreement. Geralt heaved the deepest breath he could - not very deep - and managed a tiny nod. 

"Good boy." Geralt grunted as that curled through his insides, deeper than any cock. "You need so much," Jaskier went on, thrusting his fingers deep, sliding them around the base of Eskel's cock, _opening Geralt up even more,_ "and we're happy to give it, and do you know why?" He added a third finger. "It's because we love you." 

Geralt and Eskel both jerked at that: perhaps the most shocking, taboo thing Jaskier could say right out loud. Jaskier grinned, like he knew he'd scored a direct hit. "I love you. Eskel loves you." He drove his three fingers in and out of Geralt as one, getting him ready for his cock in earnest. "You can't say you don't know it. Don't _feel_ it." 

Eskel rested his forehead in the crook of Geralt's neck, breathing carefully, like this was getting to him more than all their wild fucking. 

Jaskier took his fingers away and lined up his cock. "Feel my love, Geralt," he hissed, and started to push inside. Geralt opened his mouth wide and breathed out long, hoarse moans, because otherwise he would scream and neither of them liked it when he bled on them. It didn't hurt like he'd thought it might, taking Jaskier's cock alongside Eskel's; Jaskier had prepared him very well. But the feeling of pressure, of being split apart and rendered so utterly _open_ \- that was. It was…

Eskel's groan reverberated through Geralt's chest. "So fucking _tight."_

Jaskier barked a single, wild laugh. "Yes, hello. Fancy - meeting - you here." He was glistening with sweat. He worked his way in with several careful thrusts, then threw his arms around both their shoulders, clinging for support. "Oh, oh, it's so much. It shouldn't be this hard not to come on my second round of the night." 

Weakly, Geralt lifted his arms enough to rub Jaskier's back. Bit by bit, Jaskier's shaking eased, and at last he lifted his face from Geralt's shoulder and smiled. His eyes were damp. "What you do to me. _Both_ of you." 

"I hear that," Eskel said. 

"I think I can go on, now. I promised Geralt we'd fill him up."

"Already full," Geralt choked out. He had never been so full. No one had ever been so full. 

"We've come all this way, darling. Be a shame not to give you a proper fucking after you opened so bravely for us." He tried a thrust, and then another, and when Eskel started to work in thrusts of his own Geralt rolled his head against Eskel's shoulder as a long, grinding noise spilled out of him that wanted to be a keen but his voice didn't go that high. 

"Beautiful, Geralt, so beautiful. Look at you taking us." Jaskier thumbed Geralt's nipples, pinched them softly. "Taking all we have to give. All our love. And do you know what else?" Geralt's breath caught. Jaskier leaned in to kiss him, and whispered into his mouth, "You love us back." 

Geralt's throat seized as he came again, his inner muscles twitching in exhaustion around the pair of cocks pistoning inside him. 

"Say it." 

"I can't, I can't," he gasped. He would not have thought he had any resistance left in him, but it turned out he did. 

"You love me. You love him. You love _us._ Say it." Somehow, impossibly, Jaskier found it in himself to fuck Geralt even harder. Behind him, Eskel was also fucking him faster, arms bulging as he clamped Geralt to his chest. 

"You love us, you love us, you love us," Jaskier was chanting, loss of eloquence a sure sign he was riding the razor's edge of his own orgasm. He started stripping Geralt's cock with one hand, and with the other he rubbed Geralt's nipples by turns into two points of fire. Eskel's arms were like bars of iron around his chest. Their cocks inside him felt bigger than the whole world. There was no part of him, body and soul, that couldn't feel their love. 

"You love us, you love us, Geralt, you _love_ us," Jaskier's voice hitched and Eskel sank his teeth into Geralt's neck, and some last, brittle barrier in Geralt shattered and fell to dust. 

"Yes," he whispered, shaking, "yes, I do, I love you, I do." And _Jaskier_ screamed as he fucked up into him and came so hard Geralt could feel the jet as he spent, and Eskel muffled an almost subterranean groan into his neck where he'd bitten him and did the same. For himself, Geralt couldn't even tell if he was coming again or not; if he was, the feeling wasn't grounded in his belly as expected, but was instead a winged thing made of joy and terror, flapping up a windstorm inside his chest. 

But no thunderbolt struck him down for his words, nor did the earth crack open and swallow him whole. There was just himself, and Eskel, and Jaskier, and the sound of all their heaving breaths. 

It was a long time before even Geralt's and Eskel's breathing slowed, and longer still for Jaskier. At last he peeled his face off Geralt's shoulder. _"Fuck."_

Eskel snickered. "Yes, we did." Geralt aimed an uncoordinated swat at his head. Eskel didn't even bother to dodge it. 

Becoming three separate bodies again was uncomfortable, and more than a little disgusting, especially for Geralt. But Eskel shot a little _Igni_ at the pitcher of water, and Jaskier had set aside plenty of towels, and it didn't take long before they decamped to Eskel's big bed, with its clean sheets and lofty quilt. The three of them generated so much heat they needed only a couple of bearskins on top of the quilt to seal out the worst of the winter chill. 

Geralt was in a strange mood, as if whatever Jaskier had cracked open in him was still exposed. He almost wanted to hide under the blankets like a kid, but settled for burrowing against their bodies instead, craving their skin as if he was cold despite being almost too hot. He also found himself quite unable to speak, and finally resorted to signing, _What did you do to me?_

Jaskier sighed and rubbed aimless circles into his back. "You usually fall asleep for this phase. Jürgen calls it 'dropping'." 

"Who's Jürgen?" asked Eskel. 

"A physician, overseeing the Countess de Stael's _salon._ Recreational floggings, being trussed up like a turkey, various and sundry forms of playacting - it's a busy place." 

"Floggings," Eskel repeated in a thin voice. 

"Recreational. Some people enjoy it. Anyway, he's made a study of folk in - intense emotional states, and says there's a real biochemical cocktail being stirred up in the blood at such times. With an accompanying hangover sort of effect afterwards. Your version, Geralt," he dropped a kiss into his hair, "tends to make you sleepy above all else. Or maybe you're just always tired." 

"Winter's about the only time any witcher gets enough sleep," Eskel offered. "Meditation's safer on the Path." 

"I've long since given up trying to win that argument. But regardless, you aren't on the Path right now, are you, darling? All your dear ones are safe at home, and you've done _so_ very well tonight, I'm beyond pleased with you. You can rest." Geralt shuddered, with embarrassment at hearing Jaskier talk like that outside of sex, and also with relief as the words soothed some restless need in him. 

Jaskier and Eskel kept talking in hushed tones, and Geralt warmed to hear it, similar to how he felt watching them kiss: two of his favorite people getting to know each other better. He could no longer follow their conversation, though, the strong current of his fatigue pulling him away. 

***

Geralt woke in Eskel's bed, with his head full of Eskel's and Jaskier's scents - a big improvement on waking alone and smelling only his own, grave-dirt stink. The thought floated through his mind that while they were in Kaer Morhen, he could ask Jaskier to wear his shirts for him before he did; maybe he could get more wear out of them if Jaskier's scent still clung to them after the clean smell faded. It would work with Eskel, too, except that Eskel had more muscle than Geralt and would shred his shirts just trying to put them on. He didn't think he would actually ask, but just imagining that he _could_ was nice. 

He rolled over and started to sit up, then collapsed back onto the mattress with a sound not entirely unlike a squeak. 

Beside him, Eskel chuckled. "Morning, Wolf. Oh, don't give me that look. You enjoyed getting your ass wrecked even more than we enjoyed wrecking it." 

Geralt glared harder. _"You_ don't need half a jar of salve this morning." 

Eskel scoffed, "You exaggerate. Half a jar would stain your britches and make them smell like an apothecary's." Still, he clambered out of the bed and rummaged in his supplies until he found something suitable, then came back and rolled Geralt onto his stomach. His big hands were gentle as he applied the thick, herbal grease, first to Geralt's _very_ tender rim and then, after the ingredients had soothed the pain somewhat, a little ways inside. Geralt ordered the tiny spark of arousal in his gut to fuck off; he was _sore._

"Last night was… really something," Eskel said quietly. 

"You're telling me." Geralt caught his eyes and just looked at him for a moment, letting himself feel the same wash of enormous affection and gratitude that had submerged him last night. Eskel's eyes widened briefly, and then something relaxed in his expression and he smiled his crooked smile. 

"Say, where's Jaskier?" 

"Fetching you breakfast in bed. He was excited to learn I could smell when you were about a half-hour out from waking." 

"Heh. He used to get so annoyed that I was always up and ready first. He'll be lording this over me, just watch." 

Sure enough, when Jaskier bustled in with a tray full of tea, bread, cheese, dried fruit, and pickles (Geralt was relieved to see he had _not_ tried to cook, because the bard was somehow even more abjectly deficient in that area than Geralt, if such a thing were possible), he made much of his own generosity in slaving over the meal while Geralt, the slugabed, laid around. There was something a little bit brittle in his ribbing, at odds with the obvious care with which the giant pile of food had been arranged. Geralt figured it out midway through his second roll with pickles and cheese. 

He washed his mouthful down with some tea and said, "Jaskier." 

"-and I remember thinking, really? Even shoving the meat on a stick over a fire is too much to do for yourself?" 

_"Jaskier."_

"What?" 

"It's fine. You haven't ruined anything with your dick." 

"Except Geralt's ass," Eskel couldn't resist saying. Geralt threw a chunk of bread at his head. "Hey! Crumbs!" 

"Oh dear, _are_ you alright?" 

"Fine. Better than fine. Thank you for breakfast. Please stop worrying." 

"I-" Jaskier deflated. "Thank you. I _am_ relieved to hear that. But…" he shuffled his feet. 

Geralt raised an eyebrow. "There's something else, isn't there."

"Um." 

Eskel tensed. "It's about Ciri, isn't it? What did Lambert do?" 

"Ciri's fine! She's fine. I wouldn't waste time fetching food if something bad had happened to her." 

"But something did happen." Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just spit it out." 

"She may have, um, killed a truly enormous rat with a crossbow? And Lambert and Coën are helping her prepare the hide to mount on her door?" 

"Jaskier!" Eskel leapt from the bed. 

"And I hope this doesn't dissuade you from spending time together in the future because it was totally life-altering and I'm already thinking of when we can do it again so I just-" 

"Dissuade _shit,_ what the hell are you talking about? I want to see the hide!" 

Geralt put in, "And I want Eskel to carry me out of here so I can see it." 

Jaskier's mouth hung open. He shut it with a visible effort, looked between the both of them, and threw up his hands. _"Witchers."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I can be found on [Tumblr](https://toffeecape.tumblr.com/) and also on Discord at Sister Saxifrage.7361#8021 , and I love having more people to yell with about magic Polish albino Steve Rogers with +9 neurosis.


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